


An Ode to Steve Harrington's Hands

by blahblahblaharringrove (blahblahblahcollapse)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Billy, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Steve Harrington's Hands, Top Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 00:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahblahcollapse/pseuds/blahblahblaharringrove
Summary: What it says on the tin - Steve Harrington's got some sexy hands, Billy Hargrove is gay and has an oral fixation. You do the math."Suddenly all he can think about is what those fingers might taste like, what they’re weight against his tongue might feel like, how many he can suck on at once before they make him gag. All he can see is those fingers dancing across the ball during practice, running through soapy hair, jammed into Steve’s mouth while he bites at the beds of his nails."





	An Ode to Steve Harrington's Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This has a part 2 and part 3 that I intend to finish eventually. But for now, here you go.

Before they ever started fucking, Billy spent an embarrassing amount of time watching Steve Harrington.

He noticed every line of Steve’s body as he dribbled the ball up the court, noticed every shape his arms made, whether he was shooting the ball into the net or wrapping them around his latest conquest. He noticed the tiny pouch of fat on Steve’s belly, the dark hair that branched up his chest and down into his groin, noticed the notches in Steve’s spine when he twisted to scrub at his back in the showers.

He noticed which shorts clung to Steve’s hips just right, rode up just high enough on his thighs - which jeans cradled that perfect ass just the way Billy’s hands itched to, which jeans were worn in just enough that the material gave in to the bulge behind his zipper, leaving less guesswork for Billy’s imagination.

Billy spent months dreaming about Steve’s body. He lost count of how many times he woke to wet sheets when he denied himself his own hand the night before; too embarrassed to admit to himself that he’d be getting off to the thought of Steve Harrington.

He never once imagined he’d have the chance to actually get his hands on Steve, and he definitely never imagined he’d get his hands on Steve multiple times. But here he is, down at the quarry on a Tuesday night, bent over the hood of his Camaro with Steve Harrington behind him.

It’s the fourth time they’ve fucked around and neither of them have even bothered to take off their clothes. Billy’s jeans are pulled down just enough to reveal his ass, dick still trapped in his goddamn underwear; while Steve’s just got his dick out over his jeans.

Cold metal digs into the bare tops of Billy’s thighs as Steve pushes inside of him, eased only by the barest amount of spit, because they’re still in that stage of telling themselves this isn’t a thing.

Because it’s not - it’s not a thing.

They’re both horny, and single, and willing. It’s just fucking. It doesn’t need to be anything else.

Steve pulls halfway out before thrusting back in, forcing a low groan out of Billy. The rub of Steve’s jeans against Billy’s bare ass is going to leave a burn, but he doesn’t care. He grinds his ass back into it, desperate to take in as much of King Steve as he can.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Steve whispers, leaning forward so he can nip at Billy’s ear, reach a hand up to yank at his hair a little, punctuating the thrust of his hips. Billy growls at that, turns his head as much as he can to glare back at Steve.

“I told you…to can it…with the pet names…” He barely manages to grit the words out as Steve thrusts into him several more times. “Harrington.” One particularly rough thrust forces the head of Steve’s dick right up against Billy’s prostate, punching another groan out of Billy as his knees buckle beneath him. Steve’s hand moves from Billy’s hair to his chin, holding it like an anchor as he continues to thrust in, aiming for that same spot over and over and over…

Billy loses himself to the feeling - the pressure building in his groin, where his dick remains untouched, the fullness of Steve’s dick pressing against his insides, the warmth of Steve’s fingers cupping his chin. Those strong, beautiful, capable fingers.

Suddenly all he can think about is what those fingers might taste like, what they’re weight against his tongue might feel like, how many he can suck on at once before they make him gag. All he can see is those fingers dancing across the ball during practice, running through soapy hair, jammed into Steve’s mouth while he bites at the beds of his nails.

He opens his mouth, disguising his real purpose with another moan, and then tilts his head down just enough, coordinating the move with another thrust of Steve’s hips. Steve’s index finger slips past his bottom lip and presses against his tongue. Steve notices, starts to retract his hand, but Billy bites down, effectively stopping him.

The motion of Steve’s hips stops momentarily, like he’s not sure what’s happening.

“Don’t stop,” Billy says over his finger, and it’s enough to get Steve’s hips moving again. But he moves a little slower after that, fingers coming to life against Billy’s chin as he leans forward just a tiny bit more, just enough to hook his middle finger in Billy’s mouth alongside his index finger.

The extra finger forces Billy’s mouth further open, the weight of both fingers pushing his bottom lip into the sharp line of his teeth. It’s not painful, not quite - similar to the friction of Steve’s dick inside of him - but there’s a discomfort there, and he leans into it.

It’s little things like that, that make it easier for him to believe the lies he tells himself about what they’re doing here. There’s nothing sweet or romantic about this, it’s just fucking. Steve can rough him up, fuck him until his dick’s coughing up smoke, leave him with a physical ache that masks the ache in his chest every time Steve Harrington walks away from him.

He licks over Steve’s fingers, uses his tongue to separate them, just to see how much wider his mouth can open around them, then forces them back together as he closes his mouth to suck on them. It reminds him of the first time he sucked Steve off - in this same spot, only that time it was in the backseat of the Camaro instead of over the hood.

He moans around Steve’s fingers, spit dribbling out the sides of his mouth, and suddenly Steve’s other hand is grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking. He pulls him up and back, until his back is pressed into Steve’s front, still-clothed balls digging into the side of the Camaro.

“Wanna see, Hargrove,” Steve growls in his ear, curling his fingers in Billy’s mouth like a hook so he can use them to turn his head toward him. Steve’s eyes go immediately to Billy’s mouth, his lips parted in a grunt as the thrust of his hips fumbles a bit.

“Fuck…”

Billy’s cheeks heat, he feels so vulnerable all the sudden, under Steve’s gaze, and when Steve’s eyes meet his, it feels simultaneously like too much and not enough. He moans again, sucks harder on Steve’s fingers, closes his eyes to get away from that look in Steve’s eyes.

Steve’s hips pick up the pace again, and his fingers start to slide in and out of Billy’s mouth, in perfect unison with the thrust of his hips.

The spit-slick glide of Steve’s knuckles across Billy’s lips, the tickle of his fingertips at the back of Billy’s throat, the pressure of his palm against Billy’s chin, it pulls a whine out of Billy, high-pitched and breathy and so goddamn embarrassing. But he’s too wrapped up in the sensation of Steve’s fingers fucking his mouth, he can’t be bothered. He doesn’t even realize how close he is to coming until he’s right on the edge.

It takes just one final thrust of Steve’s hips, hitting the bullseye once more, and Billy’s spilling into his underwear. Steve groans into his ear when Billy’s teeth trap his fingers in his mouth, but it just seems to spur him on. He gets about three more thrusts in and then his hips begin to stutter and Billy can feel the pulse of his dick inside of him.

His fingers remain in Billy’s mouth, slippery, dead weight against Billy’s lips, as he rests his forehead against Billy’s shoulder and tries to catch his breath.

“Holy shit.” Steve breathes out, turning his face into Billy’s neck and brushing his lips over the skin there.

The gesture is so soft, so easy, like it’s something Steve’s done a hundred times before - it causes Billy’s stomach to start twisting up in furious knots. He wants so desperately to just accept it, to relax into Steve’s arms and let the warmth of his embrace melt away the pieces of him that are still so fucking afraid of what this all means.

He gives himself just a moment, instead. Fleeting, far too quick, but a moment. A moment to take Steve’s hand from his mouth and kiss the knuckles of it, press it against his chest, while Steve breathes his way back to reality - where whatever this is between them isn’t a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hey on tumblr, if you like - blahblahblaharringrove


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